” Her answer was terse. “Go it, miss!” cried one. They struck her as cold and indifferent. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. He might miss at this distance. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland.
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